King Under the Mountain
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: AU. Kili survives the Battle of Five Armies and would give everything he has to change that fact.


**A/N This idea occured to me out of nowhere, and admittedly sounded a lot better in my head. Still, as always, feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoy this :)**

_Disclaimer: I still don't own The Hobbit. If I did it would be nowhere near as brilliant as it is._

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There was something very wrong about all of this.

That thought was one that continually plagued Kili's weary mind when the nightmares and aching loneliness granted him a few precious moments of respite. The idea of _him _being named 'King Under the Mountain' before he'd even reached his hundredth birthday was a ludicrous one and yet – under circumstances that he'd give his soul to rewrite – that was precisely what had come to pass. Simply the thought made him feel sick.

He was unprepared for a start. While he had been aware from an early age that he was Thorin's heir, and therefore in line to the throne, it was always supposed to have been Fili who would one day receive that burden. Kili was never supposed to sit on the throne, not really. Not only was he unsuited to such a role – the rashness that he'd displayed on the journey here had only highlighted that much – but to get there he'd have had to outlive both his uncle and his elder brother, and a life without either of them was not worth comprehending. Besides, if he were to lose them both, Kili had always assumed that the grief would tear him apart.

And yet it hadn't. Or perhaps it had, he could not be certain. It was difficult to tell how badly his losses had affected him when all he had to go on were the occasional pitying glances thrown his way by his elders and his own broken reflection in the mirror. In all honesty, he'd stopped being sure of anything the minute he'd finally awoken in the healer's tent with an agonising pain blazing in his stomach and very little memory of the battle he'd fought desperately in besides the mud, screams and the look of defeat that had laced his uncle's once proud features as he fell. Balin had been sitting by his bedside with a soft expression that he later realised was simply there to calm him before the storm approached. It seemed it had fallen upon the elder dwarf to pass on the news that the entire company was still reeling over.

The King Under the Mountain and his eldest nephew had fallen. The burden of the throne had been passed to Kili.

At first there had been anger of an intensity that Kili had once feared above any monster. He had adamantly refused to believe that Elvish medicine had managed to repair his ruined gut but could not return life to his brother. Kili was nothing without Fili – a day hadn't gone by when his brother was not by his side. That constant could not have changed so abruptly, surely? Kili wouldn't allow it. He'd scream and beg and cry at anyone who would lend him an ear – his already tattered dignity, be damned – so long as _somebody_ returned his brother to his side.

He learned an important lesson that week. In the end, nobody ever listens.

And now he was to be king. After more discussions than he'd cared to count, he had eventually accepted the role, albeit rather grudgingly. The notion of him willingly handing Dain what should have belonged to Thorin felt like too great a betrayal, and Kili could not repay his uncle in such a manner. Thorin had trained him for this possibility after all, to an extent. While it had always been Fili who had carried the greatest weight on his shoulders when it came to the notion of inheriting the throne in their uncle's absence, such responsibility falling to Kili had always been a faint possibility. And despite the unlikelihood that had surrounded it, Kili had received some preparation in that field alongside his brother.

However, he had barely even dared allow himself to think of a day when he would be forced to inherit the throne from his brother, for that would mean that Fili had abandoned him completely. And even on the rare occasions where the thought did cross his mind, he'd always envisioned himself as an experienced old man on the throne, not a mere child with barely even a beard to speak of.

It wasn't fair. It was too early, he wasn't ready yet, he doubted he'd ever truly be ready and he wanted his brother back - along with Thorin - and he wanted to go home…

Kili clenched his eyes shut every time these childish wishes clogged up his head. Fili was gone. Thorin was gone. And he _was_ home, even though it didn't particularly feel like it and probably never would. Erebor was supposed to be their rightful home after all - he'd spent most of his life being reminded of that. And yet, now that he was finally there, he found that he'd never felt so lost.

And he was expected to be King of that very home. The boy who'd pulled off every prank under the sun back in the Blue Mountains and had often spent a tad too long in the tavern some nights and had spent most of his childhood being the bane of his uncle's existence would have to die and be replaced with a new, more fitting persona. The idea sickened him, but it would have to be done. There were many who doubted his capabilities. There were those who would deem him unfit for such an important role. Kili couldn't blame them. He doubted himself as well. In his current state he was more than likely too unstable for such a crushing responsibility, no matter how well he managed to hide it. Perhaps if he shed everything that had shaped him into the man he was today and replaced it with a cold mask, his losses would hurt him less and allow him to think rationally for once.

He often found himself reciting what the crowds had chanted when everything had finally been announced. Not that there was much of a crowd to speak of - dwarves were only just beginning to trickle back into Erebor after so many years. There would be far more to come yet. However, despite this, the chants that had sounded throughout the halls may as well have been the roars of the great dragon for all Kili cared, for both had reverberated around his head for days on end.

_The King is Dead!_

Yes he was. The rightful king – who had protected his people for so long at such a great cost to himself and who had finally reclaimed the home that had been stolen from them – was dead. To be replaced by a broken shadow, no less. Kili often wondered if Thorin would forgive him for the mistakes he was inevitably going to make in future, even with the wise Balin by his side. He found that he couldn't bring himself to care. He would endure Thorin's wrath any day if it meant he'd come back.

_Long live the King!_

Kili didn't deserve their cheers. He didn't deserve to continue on this now meaningless path while those most important to him had ventured where he couldn't follow. He didn't deserve anybody's respect, regardless of what he was now known as.

Besides, if the sheer weight of the responsibility that had accompanied Thorin throughout his entire waking existence was any indication, Kili couldn't imagine the prospect of a long life being a particularly pleasant one.


End file.
